All rife with gladsome joy, the gather’d throng Their leader crowd around where he may guide, To saunter, if they will, green alleys ’mong, Where thoughtful student, lull’d by streamlet’s glide, Doth lonely haunt its margent banks beside, To list sweet notes of Philomela’s lay, Or Luna pale to watch, night’s lovely bride, High ’bove the blue vault soar in bright array, About her gems of stars that beautify her way. CLIV. There they beheld, in deep seclusion’s walk, Embow’ring groves beloved by sage of yore, Th’ “Athenian Bee,” so famed for wisdom’s talk, Who here discoursed on theme of learned lore, From his mind’s cell of philosophic store, Instructive heard; in that Academy In “Dialogues” its master did outpour From lips all bland with sweet serenity, And words of mild appeal enforced he did apply. CLV. From hence they did emerge from wood’s wild glade, As travellers eke some opening bright are shown, Right glad to quit the forest’s gloomy shade For Sol’s blest beam, that thro’ the welkin shone; A brawling stream thro’ valley wended lone, A lovely dell, I ween, with villas crowned, That overshaded was with dark trees grown, And mountains swelling ’bove the clouds around-- A spot of lavish grace liken to fairy ground. CLVI. Retreat like this did Roman eloquence Invite his guests his charming villa view, Whose landscape did them fully recompense, Who hither sought and did its bounds pursue, Where solemn groves in rich luxuriance grew; The willow there it kiss’d the laving stream, As low it drooped to see its image true, Thus calm reflected in that twilight gleam, A shady haunt, I ween, dreamt of in airy dream. CLVII. And there, oft heard, the roar of ocean’s waves Fall on the ear in sullen murmurs deep; Chafed in its fury, madly wild it raves, Its bosom restless that can never sleep; The screaming petrel doth its surface sweep, With joyous wing exulting in its flight, As far it roams, or scales the rocky steep; On such lone sounding shore, with wild delight, Demosthenes declaimed ’bove foaming billows might. CLVIII. “But yon Athenian pile our steps invite-- Sacred enclosure, where the studious mind Doth there resort, and find therein delight To pore o’er records, annals of mankind, Proud names of glorious memory consigned, Long since lone dwellers of the silent tomb, Whose works survive, a new existence find; Beauties, long hid, fresh burst from Time’s dark womb, So sparkling gem illumes with sudden light the gloom.” CLIX.